Gratitude
by scorchedtrees
Summary: Four times Petra shows Levi how to be thankful. Rivetra.


_A/N: Yes it's another one of these types of fics. It's unedited because I have to go now; I'll edit next week after my exams. Happy American Thanksgiving!_

* * *

><p><strong>Gratitude<strong>

or: four times petra shows levi how to be thankful

* * *

><p><em>1.<em>

Levi always wakes early.

He isn't particularly fond of the sunrise, but he gets up with it by force of habit—it's something he can't shake, no matter how late he goes to bed. He's never required much sleep to function, accustomed to being jolted awake many times in the middle of the night by footsteps or scuffles or the occasional screams of the underground, and nothing has changed now that he is in the military: by six every morning, his eyes open and he stares at the ceiling, blinking for a minute or two, before pulling himself out of bed.

The dining hall is usually empty by the time he heads inside, shafts of sunlight barely peeking through the windows and hardly illuminating the room, but on the day after his new squad moved into headquarters, he pushes open the door and finds Petra Ral sitting at a table near the entrance, a kettle and five cups set before her.

"Captain," she says. Her face splits into a smile and she gives him a cheery wave. "Would you like some tea?"

He is oddly distracted by the bright shine of her hair and takes a moment too long to respond. When he notices she is staring at him, head cocked as she waits for an answer, he nods and clears his throat. "What tea is it?"

"Black tea," she says. Her hands pour a cup and slide it to him in one deft motion. "I like to brew it in the mornings."

He picks up the cup and holds it to his mouth, blowing a light breath across the drink and watching the liquid ripple before taking a sip. The taste of the tea instantly sets in, something bold and flavorful and clean that fills his stomach with a pleasant warmth. He blinks down at the cup, wondering why he's never been fond of black tea before.

"It's good," he says, taking another sip, and she beams.

"I'm glad you like it, captain!"

It isn't until one break day, when she's gone home to visit her father and he enters the dining hall to find it cold and empty, that he realizes he never thanks her for her tea.

_2._

Levi doesn't celebrate his birthday.

Isabel and Farlan would always acknowledge it, wish him a happy birthday and a merry Christmas at least once before noon, and he would nod at their good wishes and they would leave it at that. Living on the streets made celebrations difficult, even if he'd wished for one, and it seemed pointless to mark the start of a new year—it would just be another one of his difficult existence, and the holiday Christmas had long since lost meaning within the Walls.

He doesn't think he ever told the members of his squad his birthday, but on the morning of December 25th he walks downstairs to find all four of them waiting for him.

"Happy birthday, captain!" they say in not-quite-unison, voices clamoring for notice. There is something resembling a cake on the table, a baked lump of sugar and flour and eggs slathered with frosting, and five plates set out.

He stares at them all for a moment before it clicks. "Hanji told you," he says.

"Yeah." Erd grins. "We asked a few months ago, actually."

"Merry Christmas too!" Auruo adds.

_They're young, _he tells himself. They just want to do something nice for him. It is strange, being the center of their attention not for something he did but something he has no control over, and he feels a tad uncomfortable at the thought, but he forces himself to smile and say thank you and cut slices of the cake (it tastes better than it looks, though he isn't keen on sweets).

He thinks he acts pleased enough, but after Auruo, Erd, and Gunter have left, Petra stays behind to help clear the plates. She glances over her shoulder to make sure they are alone before speaking. "It's because we care about you," she says. "That's why people celebrate birthdays. Because they care, Levi. _I _care."

His heart skips a beat and he is suddenly, oddly grateful for the birthday wishes.

_3._

Levi usually doesn't sleep in.

He only needs so much rest to get him through the day and lying in bed wasting time is not something that appeals to him. When he wakes, he only waits for his vision to adjust to the light before getting up and starting his day.

He has to admit there is something very nice about sleeping in, however, when there is something to occupy his attention—or namely, someone.

Petra slides her fingers across his cheek, brushing a soft kiss against his jaw. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he says. She is lying next to him, her shoulder pressed up against his, and he turns over, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She snuggles contentedly into the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin.

"You're normally gone by this time," he notes, running a hand absentmindedly through her hair. "This is when people usually get up."

He can feel her shrug more than he sees it. "I thought this would be nice."

And it is; their time together is never anything more than fleeting moments stolen in short periods of rest between their daily duties as soldiers of the Scouting Legion, or short intervals in the dark that he would think he dreamed the next morning if not for the strands of copper left on his pillow. Spending time together like this—in the bright sunlight of morning, quiet and lazy and undisturbed—is new and different, and he decides he could get used to it.

But someone somewhere is probably wondering why Captain Levi has not come downstairs to breakfast yet, so he reluctantly starts to disentangle his limbs from hers.

"We should probably go now—"

"No." Her grip on him tightens a fraction, and when he looks down at her, her smile is small but serene. "Stay. Just a bit longer."

He relents, sinking back under the sheets with a sigh, but she smirks and he knows she can tell he is thankful; she can say what he cannot.

_4._

Levi never reads her letters.

He memorized them long ago, each stroke of the pen, each loop and curve of her penmanship, every word she wrote on the crumbling parchment. _I'm going on my first expedition next week, _she said to her father, her calm hand belying the anxiety she must have felt. _I'm going to Sina with my squad, _she said, her excitement evident in the rushed scrawl of her words. _I'm going to devote myself to him, _she said, and he traced those letters with his fingers so many times he thinks they may have faded under his touch.

He is old now, older than he cares to think about, but there are some things he will never forget. The exact shade of her hair might escape his memory, the sound of her voice might leave his mind, the details of her face may never come back, but he loved her and she loved him and he was happy. He remembers being happy.

He used to be angry too, he recalls. When she died. He was angry and heartbroken, and he shoved those emotions away, locking them up someplace he hoped he would never face again. The grief and the rage left, eventually, slowly leeched away until they were reduced to nothing but regret, a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

But he was young even then, and now he is old enough to realize he was lucky. He had several years with her—many had none, and now he is old enough to value those precious years for what they were worth.

Petra is gone, has been gone for decades, but she has finally taught him how to appreciate her memory, and he is grateful for having known her at all.


End file.
